


A Place for a Moment

by romanticalgirl



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never begins. Never ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place for a Moment

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/)**inlovewithnight**! It's Pick-a-Porn! Whoo!
> 
> Originally posted 6-24-07

He is, he’s fairly certain, going to fucking kill him.

The problem with Ioan, Matthew well knows, is that the majority of the time he thinks of him, thoughts of homicide are not far behind. Mostly because Ioan doesn’t think so much as do and be and that doesn’t always bode well for those who actually give something of a fuck what happens to the stupid bloke. Occasionally, Matthew thinks it’d be easier on everyone if Matthew just shoved him off the balcony and put an end to it all, stopped the waiting game and just helped him shuffle off this mortal coil.

Of course, that means he’d always have to buy the beer. And, as often as Ioan forgets to pay the _important_ things like the water and the phone and the electricity, he does always remember to stock up the beer, so there’s always something to drown whatever the latest irritation is away.

“There’s beer.” Ioan calls from his bedroom as Matthew shuts the door behind him. Miraculously he can hear the sounds of the small telly in Ioan’s room, which means they have power. “And there’s Chinese.”

“What have you done now then?”

“What?” Ioan pops his head out the bedroom door, his curls gone wild and covered with dust. Matthew keeps from laughing only just, pressing his lips together as Ioan rakes a hand through the thick mass, leaving it standing on end. “Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

“No. Nothing.”

“So why is there beer and Chinese?”

“Was thirsty. And hungry.” Ioan steps out of his room, his lean and gangly form wrapped up in a worn and faded Wales rugby shirt and a pair of sweats that have seen better days – hell, had seen better days several decades ago. “And there’s some left.”

“You never buy dinner unless there’s something up.” Matthew goes into the kitchen and snags a container of Kung Pao Chicken and brings it back into the lounge, looking up at Ioan over his chopsticks. “So give.”

“Nothing.” He leans against the doorframe, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “Though…”

Matthew nearly smiles, glad to be vindicated. It’s Friday, after all, which means Ioan has to have done something that Matthew’s going to need to fix, smooth over or hope like hell no one notices. And, as always, plot out a way or two to kill Ioan. “Though what?”

“Thinking of moving out.”

Matthew stops smiling, stops eating, stops breathing. “What?”

“Well, I’ve met this girl, and she’s quite lovely. Thought maybe we might move in together.”

“You’ve just met her and you’re thinking of moving in?”

“Well, not really _thinking_ so much. Sort of…” He gestures behind him into his room, the movement revealing the stack of boxes piled behind Ioan. “She’s really lovely.”

“Yeah. ‘m sure she is.” Matthew nods vacantly, his brow furrowing as though he can’t quite make out what he’s seeing. “You’re moving out.”

“You’re always saying I bollocks everything up, Matthew. Don’t pay the pills, pay them wrong or not on time. And I’m always eating your take away and drinking the good whiskey, right? This way it’s all yours and I’m not about to muck it up.”

“Right.” He nods again and his stomach roils, the few bites of food he had feeling like they’ve no intention of staying in his stomach. “Well, that’s…that’s great news then. Congratulations, mate. Good on you, right? I’ve…I’ve got to…um…” He shakes his head to clear it, his brain feeling like it’s slammed into a brick wall and shattered. “Excuse me then, won’t you?”

He barely makes it to the bathroom before his stomach revolts. He fists his hands along the porcelain, feeling the cool against his skin. Tears sting his eyes, staining his lashes with wet as he breathes, struggling to control the upheaval in his gut, the rough weight of the air in his lungs.

He senses more than hears Ioan behind him. “You all right, mate?”

“I’m fine.” Matthew’s good at lying. He’s an actor after all. Surely he can convince his best mate that, despite being on his knees in front of the toilet after vomiting what little he managed to eat today, he’s just peachy fucking keen. “Must have been something I ate.” He gets to his feet because he has to, because otherwise he’s showing a bloody weakness, and moves to the sink. His pale complexion looks a bit green, but otherwise he’s the same lad – spotty face and five o’clock shadow and all – that he was when he left the house this morning, when he walked back in the door. “When are you leaving?”

“Well, I thought I’d take a week at least, get all the things packed up and moved, you know. Unless you’d rather I chucked all my stuff out sooner.”

“No. No. Take your time.” He reaches for his toothbrush, and it’s the only one in the rack, which somehow makes it real in a way the boxes in Ioan’s room don’t. “You’re leaving.”

“You’ll see me at school, mate. And down the pub. It’s not as if you’ll not be running into me all over. Be like I never left.”

“Except you’ll be gone.” Matthew follows the steps – water, toothpaste, water, teeth, water, spit, water and repeat. It’s mechanical and he can’t quite look at Ioan’s reflection in the mirror. He’s not sure what’s in his own eyes, and he knows Ioan’s are likely filled with that fucking puppy look, desperate for approval. He spits into the sink and lets the water run over the brush for a long moment before tapping it against the porcelain and turning the water off. “I hope you’ll be happy.”

“D-d’you not want me to go?”

“Want you to be happy, Ioan.” It’s not an answer, but it’s the best he can do. “Is all that matters.”

“Matthew?” Ioan moves up behind him, his long fingers curved over Matthew’s shoulder. Matthew does his best not to react to the touch, not to shiver as heat seems to pulse at the points of contact. His breath is warm as it fans over Matthew’s neck, as he leans in, his eyes meeting Matthew’s in the mirror. “I thought you’d be pleased that I was going. Thought you’d be relieved.”

“Like having you around.”

“You’re always on about how I forget everything.”

“Keeps it interesting.” He doesn’t trust his voice, not when Ioan’s looking at him that way, not when there’s so little room between them. Matthew’s hands are curled around the edge of the counter, knuckles white from the pressure. “Did I make you think you weren’t welcome?”

“No. I just thought…thought you must be tired of me. At least with her, if I fuck up, she’s getting something hopefully decent in return for putting up with the dimwittedness.”

“So because you’re to be fucking her, it’s all right?” Matthew’s voice is strangled to his own ears, and he tells himself to shut up, not to say another word. “Could just fuck me then.”

Ioan laughs and it’s a strange, soft huffing sound that dances along Matthew’s collar. Matthew can’t help but close his eyes and just feel it, his breath catching as Ioan’s free hand settles on his hip. “Would you like that?” It’s typical Ioan, willing to say anything, ask anything if he thinks it needs to be done, only there’s something else to it, some edge in his voice that shivers down Matthew’s spine. “Would you, Matthew?”

“God, Ioan.” Matthew tilts his head as Ioan moves closer, his body pressed to Matthew’s, his mouth close enough to Matthew’s neck that he can feel the heat of it, can feel the wet promise hovering over his skin. “Don’t think…”

“That’s right, Matthew.” Ioan’s mouth finds the pulse at the base of Matthew’s neck, closes over it like burst of flame engulfing him. “Don’t think.”

Matthew turns in Ioan’s loose embrace, never losing his touch. Ioan makes a noise low in his throat, his mouth fitting over Matthew’s, shifting closer so he’s cradled in the space between Matthew’s legs, so that Matthew’s pressed against the counter, the edge digging into his arse. Matthew matches Ioan’s noise with one of his own, his hands fisting somewhere in Ioan’s t-shirt, rucking it up to slide his hands beneath.

They kiss forever it seems, Ioan’s tongue and lips and teeth playing with Matthew’s, a game of give and take that fits their relationship too well. Matthew pushes and Ioan gives, pushing back finally when Matthew least expects it. His hands find skin, warm and sleep-soft and he moans, shifting his hips so they rock against Ioan’s, feeling the hard pressure of Ioan push back.

“Want…”

Ioan nods, not letting Matthew say anything more as he kisses him again, stealing them with sharp teeth and sudden heat. Ioan pulls back, hand curving from around Matthew’s hip to beneath the waistband of his jeans, tugging him along behind. Matthew follows, unsure he can do anything but, falling in step with Ioan’s longer stride. They veer to the left, moving to Matthew’s room, away from boxes and whatever future Ioan’s chosen for himself, and into the safe sanctuary that his room offers – scripts and plays and pieces of costumes, books and music littered about and TA’s rugby shirt hanging above the makeshift desk.

Of course, the only thing they’re intent upon is the bed, hands and mouths moving in earnest now, stripping and touching and exploring. Ioan proves that his tongue’s not just for party tricks, trailing it over sensitive skin until Matthew’s writhing beneath him, hips pushing up off the bed so that Ioan’s long fingers can tug his jeans and briefs down.

Ioan’s already stripped, Matthew’s own sense of determination having cost Ioan his clothes early on, needing more skin and more heat. It’s easy with Ioan, everything falling into place like always, their bodies aligning despite the height difference, the shift of weight and the tangle of too-long limbs.

They move like the scene is choreographed, like they’ve done it before or simply were born to do it, blocked and rehearsed and lit the way real productions are, but it’s just them, alone in the half-light of dusk, red and orange painting their skin as it filters in through the window, sparking off dust motes and smoke until it falls on them.

It doesn’t last long, not like in the movies or even in their own retellings at the pub. It’s hot and thick and fast and done, both of them panting and breathless and sticky and wet, gasping against one another’s skin and sending different kinds of shudders along the way. Matthew’s hips roll upward and Ioan muffles a groan against his neck, not quite moving, but suddenly not as there as he was.

“So…you don’t want me to go then?”

“Do what makes you happy, Ioan.” The words sound false to his ears, and no doubt to Ioan’s, but he knows it’s what he has to say. Reality would be kicking Ioan’s arse and telling him not to be such a dramatic prick, but Matthew’s fairly certain that would ruin whatever mood it is that they’re struggling to hang on to.

“Just did.” He huffs another laugh, and Matthew could get used to the play of Ioan’s breath across his skin. “Could stay. If you want.”

“Be a bit of a pain to have to break in another roommate.”

“Bet you could find one to pay the bills on time.”

“Yeah,” Matthew looks up at him, smiling, and it’s strange to be best mates, but this as well, as he’s pretty sure that maybe they’re this now. Whatever this is. “But where’d be the fun in that?”


End file.
